In the name of history, in the name of landmarks and revitalization
and stuff that means less than we thought it did, one of the last purveyors of
truly Birmingham hot dogs – Lyric Hot Dogs & Grill on Third Avenue North –
has been told the jig is up.

It has been notified by its landlord, Birmingham Landmarks LLC –
the group that restored the Alabama Theatre and admirably raised millions to
begin Goliath restoration of the Lyric Theatre – it has 90 days to get its buns
out to make way for renovations, including a stairwell to upper offices in the
Lyric building.

Glop.

The hot dog is history in Birmingham. I mean, the hot dog is
a big part of history in the city, and the Lyric part of it all. John Collins
opened Lyric Hot Dogs in 1957, and son Andrew Collins served his first
customers in 1963, as Civil Rights protesters marched across the city. He was
13.

Andrew took over in 1971, and ran the Lyric as Loveman's
closed, as Terminal Station was demolished. He was there when the Alabama
Theatre across the street was a shuttered shell, and when dreams of restoring
the Lyric Theatre itself were just dusty fantasies.

Andrew Collins was there when little else was, and he was
there last month as crowds poured in to celebrate rebirth of the theater
district along with Rev Birmingham. The rebirth that killed him.

Collins is now 65, and doesn't think he has the will to
reopen elsewhere. He owns a bar down the street, and will focus on that. He'd
have liked more notice, time to get his mind right and his affairs in order,
but he shrugs it off, and talks of how much he loves downtown.

"This city thrives in spite of itself," he said.

Danny Evans, who formed Birmingham Landmarks and, frankly,
worked preservation wonders with the Alabama and Lyric, argues there's nothing
that could be done. The theater must comply with the Americans with
Disabilities Act, and the architects couldn't find a better way.

"I hate it," Evans said. "I hope he'll see that everyone
wants good for him. I swear if there was another way we could keep him, we
would."

I suppose I must acknowledge that there is irony all over. When Alabama Media Group decided to move into the Young & Vann building, it displaced the Birmingham History Center in the same way. Time, necessity and (glop) irony march on.

But in Birmingham, the hot dog is as much a landmark as any building.

The hot dog, done in the manner of Gus' or Pete's Famous, of Jimmy's or Tony's
or the dozen or more joints that used to jump here, fed downtown when
nobody else would.

George Sarris, the famous fishmonger who got his start
selling wieners downtown, says hot dogs are to Birmingham what chili is to Cincinnati,
what cheese steak is to Philly. They ought to be celebrated, and doused in the city's distinctive
sauce of simmered vinegar and ketchup, onions and spices.

"Birmingham just doesn't get it," Sarris said. And he is
right. Birmingham again and again has turned its back on the dog.

Tony's lost its lease and Terry's lost its lease, and the
story was repeated again and again. In the '80s, when Birmingham Green was
built to revitalize 20th Street, Sarris' Sammy's deli and hot dog stand lost
half its business.

There were more than a dozen Birmingham-style independent
hot dog joints downtown 20 years ago. After January there will be ... Gus'. It
won't be long before you have to go to Homewood for a Birmingham dog.

Glop.

I love what has been done to preserve Birmingham landmarks. I
do. But this city must remember that it takes more than buildings to save a town's character.

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